


Tainted Love

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: Thorin's dragon sickness clouds his vision and his heart.





	Tainted Love

Moira sat against the dark black stone of the Mountain chamber, listening to the distant, echoed ramblings of the king. Several others sat with her as they tried to ignore the same troubling drone of words. Ori, Nori, and Dori sat somberly and as silent as the rest, each one failing to take genuine interest in book, coin, or needle. In another bunch, Bofur, Bifur, Bilbo, and Bombur sent each other concerned looks but could not voice their thoughts. It was torture and she was sure it would suffocate them all.

One day could change so much and she wished wholeheartedly that she could trace time. Only a day or two ago, that was all she wanted. She knew there was no such magic in this world, even if that pointy-hatted wizard had been there. And so she would have to trust in her heart and hope that whatever madness had seized Thorin would release him. However long it took to do so, she would wait. She owed him that much.

She felt a pressure on her hand and looked to Balin as he squeezed it reassuringly. Despite herself, she knew the white-haired dwarf could see her worries plainly. They were almost just as transparent in his wrinkled forehead and beneath his aged beard. She attempted a smile but it was nothing more than a twitch of her lips.

“He’s a strong dwarf, child,” He said gently, trying not to disturb the mournful quiet, “He will pull through. He has too.”

“Will he?” She asked weakly and clenched her jaw to keep from revealing the extent of her despair, “Did his grandfather?”

“Moira, we cannot…” His voice trailed off helplessly, “We must be strong so that he can.”

“I know,” She relented, not wanting to be the cynic in the conversation. Not this conversation. “It’s just…scary.”

Balin had no words left to comfort her, he could barely keep himself calm. So he pulled her closer instead and hugged her head against his shoulder. It was moments like these, when he was so close with the dwarrow, that he regretted not having children of his own. In another lifetime, she could have been his. He could have doted on her and sheltered her. But this would have to do, here and now. The past could not be relived.

“Thank you, Balin,” Her voice was quiet as she let herself cling to him, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, Moira,” His voice was steady but his throat was tight with emotion. He worried too much for this company of dwarves and it was sure to make him even older.

“Moira,” Balin’s voice was replaced with a deeper one, barreling across the mountain ceiling and shattering the brittle silence, “Pardon me,” Dwalin corrected himself as his voice seemed to frighten even himself, “I didn’t mean to disturb you all,” He looked around ruefully. His dark brow was lowered and his grey blue eyes fraught with the same concern they all shared, “The king has bid me to bring you to him.”

“Me?” She sat up from against Balin but she kept her hand in his, her fingers tightening around his, “Why? He doesn’t think I…”

“No, not at all,” He shook his head though it did little to assure her that she was not the latest suspect, “He said nothing of the stone. He said he wanted to see you.”

“Oh, well…” She looked to Balin and slowly untangled her hand from his as she stood, “I suppose I cannot say no.”

“I wouldn’t,” Dwalin warned, “He’s in no mood for denial…I know it too well.”

“Moira, if you would, before you go to see Thorin,” Balin began to push himself from the floor and she reached down to help him up. Oh, if only she were his daughter. But she was as close to as he had and he would keep her safe as if she were his blood. “I must speak with my brother before he takes you away. Only a minute, I promise.”

“Of course, Balin,” She agreed with her loving deference, “I have a debt to settle with Nori as it were.”

She still could not smile but she turned and walked over to Nori, confronting him over a bet they had made days ago. It distracted her and those huddled around enough for Balin to turn back to his brother. He nudged him away from the rest, their eyes meeting in understanding.

“What exactly did Thorin say about Moira?” Balin asked in a whisper.

“Balin, I…It wouldn’t help to say,” Dwalin looked to his hand, examining his nails evasively, “If I don’t bring her to him, he will seek her out himself and he’ll be even worse if he does.”

“I know, brother,” Balin surrendered solemnly, “But please, just tell me. It will calm me…just too know something.”

“He said, uh…” Dwalin looked at his brother and sighed as he scratched the back of his head, “I want my ‘precious jewel’. I had thought he had been speaking once more of the Arkenstone but…” Dwalin’s mouth slanted in distress, “I told him we were still searching for it and he roared at me. He told me ‘Don’t be daft. I know the Arkenstone is yet to be found. Bring me Moira.’”

“‘Precious jewel’?” Balin pondered the words aloud, “Oh, Dwalin,” His hand went to his heart unthinkingly, “Y-you look after her, okay? Keep a close eye on her.”

“He won’t hurt her,” Dwalin argued, “He’s not that mad.”

“Perhaps not intentionally, but…he is not himself,” Balin glanced over his shoulder as Moira wrestled with Nori over something he could not see, “If he asks you to leave, stay close. Hide and keep your ears open.”

“I will, brother,” Dwalin set his hand fraternally on Balin’s shoulder, “I won’t let him hurt her.”

“I vowed never to take up against my king,” Balin said quietly as he turned to look at the rabble of dwarves, distracted by Nori and Moira’s argument, “But should he force me to, I will not hesitate to wield my ax in her defense.”

“The sickness has not darkened him that much,” Dwalin assured him with another sigh, “It is not strong enough to dull his feelings for her.”

The two brothers looked to the group of dwarves. Dwalin with arms crossed over his broad chest and Balin pulling anxiously at his tunic hem.

“Moira, I’ll get your dues from Nori later,” Dwalin interjected and Nori gave a fearful wince, “We best be going. We wouldn’t want to keep the king waiting too long.”

“Hmm, alright,” She rose from her knees and exhaled resignedly, “You’re right. Besides, you’re the best person to knock sense into that dwarf.” She gestured to Nori as she walked towards the brothers and Nori tried to hide behind Dori.

“In time,” Dwalin promised and stood back to let Moira through, “Now, come on before you try my own patience.”

They walked into the corridor, Moira sending a final anxious look over her shoulder to Balin. She walked in silence beside Dwalin and never an eloquent dwarf, he stayed quiet as they continued on. She could tell by the tension that he was as nervous as her and it boded poorly for her meeting with the king. She had not seen him since the previous night when they had chased off Smaug but he had changed so quickly that she felt as though she was going to see a stranger.

“Listen, Moira,” Dwalin stopped her outside the throne room, keeping his voice low, “Wait for him to speak first. Only respond to him, don’t try to lead the conversation. Be careful with your words,” His hand was on her shoulder as if he was trying to give his strength to her, “He’s sick and not himself.”

“I know,” She assured him and slowly removed his hand from her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, Dwalin.”

He cleared his throat and stepped forward to open the door, standing back to let her through. He entered behind her and caught up to her swiftly, walking her down the wide walkway towards the towering throne. Thorin sat upon it, a gold and black crown atop his dark locks, his blue eyes shining a sickly light, and his shoulders set in unsatisfied greed. As he focused on her, Moira almost shuttered to see the king she could barely recognize.

“Moira,” He stood to her surprise, a smile coming to his lips, “You came.”

“Of course I did, my king,” She bowed her head in reverent custom.

“Dwalin,” The dwarf had shifted in his boots and drawn the attention of Thorin, “You may leave us.”

Moira kept her eyes ahead of her but sensed the sidelong look Dwalin sent her way as he hesitated a moment. “My king,” He relented quietly and turned slowly on his heels, his footsteps fading towards the door, the clatter of the door closing behind him nearly made her jump.

“Moira,” The king descended the steps of his throne, his dark regal cape fluttering around his legs. He walked towards her, his brocade overcoat catching the light where it was trimmed gold, and the metallic hues of his jewelry twinkling like stars around waist, chest, and fingers.

“My king,” She replied as he neared her. It was as if he were a wolf prowling the woods after midnight.

“Thorin,” He breathed as he walked around her in a full circle before stopping before her, “Please, call me Thorin.”

“Thorin,” She said plainly and kept her eyes warily on the king.

“Have I displeased you?” He asked suddenly and seized her hand, “My precious jewel.” He kissed the top of her hand, his blue eyes piercing her through the dim.

“N-No,” She stuttered as his words rattled in her mind. Precious jewel. She tried not to flinch and resisted the urge to pull loose her hand. “Not at all, my—Thorin.”

“Good, good,” He lowered her hand but kept his hold on it, “I only want you to be happy.” He turned back and his other arm went around her waist as his hand stayed on hers. He led her forward, the heat of his body inexplicably icy at the same time, “Please, come sit.”

He guided her up the steps which she reluctantly climbed and her chest was filled with foreboding. He released her and waved to the seat of the large stone chair. She stared at it with fright and looked back to him with wide eyes. “Thorin?” She bit her lip, “I don’t think—I shouldn’t.”

“Sit,” He ordered and his voice cut like the edge of his sword, “It is your right.”

My right? She held her tongue and slowly turned to lower herself onto the stone seat. She had to fight to keep from trembling as she knew Thorin was watching her closely. As she settled onto the throne, the king lowered himself before it, sitting on the top step and pulling her hand back to his. He grasped it tightly and kissed it once more. “Precious jewel,” He said and caressed her palm with his lips, “My queen.”

All of Moira’s muscles stiffened and she hid the shiver the words had sent through her. Thorin brought himself closer and leaned his head against her leg, his crown shifting atop his dark hair. He pulled it off with one hand as he felt it slipping and placed it beside him on the step, placing her hand on his head as if to have her pet him.

She let him do it and she could not help but run her fingers along the soft tresses. He was sick. All she wanted to do was make him better and he was not muttering inanities at the moment. If this could calm him and keep the disease at bay, then it was the least she could do. The throne was hard and cold beneath her and she knew it was a crime to be sat upon it. _Yet, what else was she to do with the king clinging to her leg like a possessive feline?_

* * *

Moira was trapped. She had been in the dark chamber for days though she was not entirely sure exactly how long. She had lost count in the windowless bedchamber and only the nightly retirement of the king aided her in keeping track. Every evening he would enter through the locked stone door and greet her as his ‘precious jewel’ before stripping himself of his crown and kingly cape. Then he would fall upon the bed and command her to join him. He only held her but she could not allow herself any peace in his arms.

He was even more a stranger than before. Every day saw another part of him eaten away by the sickness and she felt even more cornered in her prison. Balin had visited her twice, speaking to her through the door but Dwalin had come that day to tell her that she would not be speaking with his brother again. He assured her that the old dwarf was alright, only that it was too dangerous for him to do so.

Nonetheless, Moira sat against the door, listening to the silence beyond. The corridor was still but the cool air slipping beneath the door calmed her. The chamber often felt as though it was closing in upon her and she felt her chest would collapse at such times and nearly passed out from her panic. So she listened to the undisturbed quiet beyond her cell and distracted herself with thoughts of the past.

A dull patter broke her thoughts and her mind cleared to the sound of footsteps outside the door. She prayed that it was not Thorin, not yet. She pressed her ear against the door and listened, familiar voices low on the other side.

“Oh, Fi, what are we going to do?” Kili said hopelessly.

“Nothing we can do,” Fili replied somberly, “You heard Balin.”

“Hello?” Moira pounded on the door with her fist, “Fili! Kili!” She had not seen the royal nephews since Laketown and did not know that they had arrived.

“Moira?” The two brothers responded in unison and she heard them stepping up to the other side of the door, “Moira?” Fili continued, “Why don’t you come out of there?”

“I…I can’t,” She admitted, regretting calling to the brothers, “I’m locked in.”

“Oh, well that’s solved easily enough,” Kili chuckled, “We’ll get a pick from Nori and–”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Moira interjected glumly, “I wouldn’t have you the latest prey of Thorin’s wrath.”

“Thorin locked you in there?” Fili asked disbelievingly, “But why?”

“It’s not important,” She was too ashamed to explain, “I just…I’m glad you’re alright, Kili.”

“Of course I am,” She heard the pity in Kili’s voice, “Moira…”

“Let us get you out of there,” Fili pleaded.

“You can’t,” She replied with resignation, “He’ll only lock me back up and Mahal knows what he would do to you.”

“Please, we can help,” Kili asserted, “We’re not afraid of Thorin. He’s sick but we can’t let him do this to you.”

“No, no,” Moira protested, her hand sliding down the door weakly, “You two, go on. Please. I can handle him for now, but if the two of you get involved, I fear for us all.”

“Moira–” Kili made to protest again but his voice was stifled by another.

“Nephews,” Thorin’s voice was clear through the door as he began down the corridor, “What are you doing?”

“Um, we were…” Kili’s voice trailed off nervously.

“We were talking to Moira,” Fili supplied unflinchingly, “That’s all. Saying hello on our way to look for the Arkenstone.”

“Well then,” Thorin’s heavy footfalls stopped on the other side of the door and Moira winced, “I think you’ve said your hellos. You may go and help the others now. We must find that stone.”

“Uncle,” Fili accepted in an acidic tone and Kili stayed silent.

Two pairs of footsteps shuffled around before sounding decisively away from the door and Moira could hear Thorin muttering under his breath angrily. She scurried away from the door and to a chair, afraid of what was to follow. She could not be sure of the king in such a state.

The lock clinked as the thick key was inserted and turned and the door swung inward. Thorin stepped through with a growl, looking around the chamber with narrowed eyes. As he saw her sitting quietly, if not anxiously, upon a chair, his shoulders dropped and his face softened. He neared her, pulling free a bundle from beneath his arm as he knelt before her.

He set the cloth-shrouded object beside his leg on the floor and took her hands in his. He kissed both of them softly and looked up into her eyes as she tried not to wince at his sickly irises. They were so clouded that he almost looked like a walking corpse.

“I’m sorry, Moira,” He said in a rasp, “But I cannot trust you anymore.”

“What?” Her heart palpitated and her eyes widened, “What do you mean?”

“You…talking to my nephews so sneakily,” He explained and tightened his grip on her hands, “I told you. I must protect you until we find the Arkenstone. You are in danger.”

“But, Thorin, you don’t think your own nephews would hide the Arkenstone from you?” She challenged weakly.

“Unfortunately, I cannot be sure,” He looked down and she saw anger flash across his face, “But I need you to keep yourself safe. You cannot be talking to anyone but me. Do you understand?”

“Thorin, these dwarves swore their lives to you and–”

“Enough!” His voice was sharp and frightened her, “I know what these dwarves have done for me…but not of what they would do against me.” She remained silent and swallowed as his eyes flared, “Don’t presume to tell me the merit of my own men.”

She looked down and his hands released hers. She held back fearful tears and waited for him to continue. She would rather he go through his angry outburst than to provoke him to worse. He would tire himself out before long and then she would be able to hold him at bay.

“I brought you a gift,” He said softly, his voice surprising her as he lifted the bundle from the floor.

He unwrapped it carefully, revealing a silver and amethyst circlet to the dim light of the chamber. He stood, pushing himself up with one hand and she looked up at him with repressed gloom. He pulled her to her feet wordlessly and gazed down at her in the maddened haze of his sickness. He brought the circlet up ceremoniously and lowered it onto her head with a smile.

“My queen,” He breathed and dropped his hands, admiring her as she stood meekly in her crown, “I know we haven’t much of a kingdom yet, but we will. I promise you.”

“Yes, Thorin,” She wanted so to rip the crown from her head but she hid all discomfort, speaking in a placid tone, “We will. I know.”

“Come,” He took her hand and once more he was leading her towards the bed, “I am tired. I must rest…and so must you. A queen cannot let herself grow sick.”

She followed him wordlessly and he lowered himself onto the bed, pulling her down after him. As the nights before, she placed her head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around her middle and she listened to the muffled beat of his heart. She felt her crown slipping and he removed it for her, placing it on the unused pillow beside him. His own joined hers and his free hand buried itself in her hair. She could barely hear anything as she pressed her ear to his chest. The sickness would take him soon, she knew it.

* * *

She had been alone for what seemed like days. Moira could not say for certain the time she had spent locked up but she knew what kept her so isolated. There were none in the Mountain to set her free. They were fighting. Had been fighting a battle for too long. They must have been dead and she would die here, alone in the Mountain.

“Please,” She whined as she broke another pin in the keyhole. She let out a tearless sob and fell back onto her bottom.

She wanted to see it for herself. _How could they have forgotten about her?_ She had told them she would fight by their side but she had been left there. She had not cried, not truly. She had merely emitted pathetic whimpers as time ate away at her nerves and patience.

“Ugh,” She kicked her feet and pushed herself from the stone floor, “No!” Her voice was loud and wrought with pent up anger, “No!” She pounded a fist against the door, “Nooo!” She was arguing with a fate which could not hear her, “No! No! NO!”

She turned and let her body lean heavily on the door. She would starve now that she had finished the last of the mouldy bread and tepid water. She dropped her head into her hands and yet she could not cry. As much as she felt her heart rending in two and her throat choked with despair, she could not bring forth any tears.

“No, please,” She gave a halfhearted shout and slid down the door into a heap, “I don’t want to die.”

“Moira!” She swore she heard her name, distant and frantic. “Moira!” It came again and she was certain her mind was finally breaking, “Moira, are you in there?” The door rattled as a fist rapped upon the other side.

“Balin?” Moira sat up, her voice a wisp of pained disbelief, “Is that you? Truly?”

“Just a moment, my child,” She stood shakily and backed away from the door as she heard the key turning in the slot and it jolted open, “Oh, Moira.”

“Balin!” She nearly knocked him over as she hugged him, though she lacked her usual strength. His armour was cold and harsh through the wool of her tunic, “Why did you leave me here? All of you?”

“We couldn’t…We tried to get you out but Thorin…” He sighed and pulled away from her mournfully, “He said he had done too much to you already. That he could never forgive himself for what he had done in his sickness and that he would not let you bleed for him.”

“And you just let him keep me in here?” Moira nearly snarled at him, “I thought I was going to die in here! I thought…you all had already died out there!”

“No, we didn’t…and neither did you,” His argument was weak and his eyes sparkled with moisture, “Please, you’ve every right to loathe us but Thorin was himself again. He was our king and he was protecting you…but now—Moira.”

“He’s dead?” She gasped and her hand was at her throat. Despite all he had done to her, she knew that had not been his true self. And she had missed out on seeing him as what he had been before the sickness one last time. If he had truly broken free of his madness, he had stolen from her the one hope which had seen her through it.

“No, my dear, not as yet,” Balin took her hand and his other steadied her shoulder, “But he is seriously wounded. And his nephews…”

“I must see them,” She insisted and at last a tear spilled from her eye, a droplet of ice against her fevered skin, “Please.”

“You must, child,” He nodded and frowned, wiping away his own tears before they could fall, “I have come to take you to them. And perhaps we can find you some food as well. We were cruel in leaving here so.”

Moira was speechless and she swallowed back the flow of tears. She grasped Balin’s hand in an unbreakable clutch and he led her from the room. Her long awaited freedom burned greater than dragon fire. She was guided blindly through the corridors by the white-haired dwarf and when she stood in another doorway, staring down at three pale, unmoving bodies, she could barely breath.

She let go of Balin’s hand and numbly crossed over to kneel between the two princes. Their eyes were closed but their chests rose and fell steadily. Bandages wrapped their torsos and Fili’s leg was splinted. Oin looked to her from the far wall with a grunt before his words, “Those two are just sleeping. I gave them a potion to help them forget the pain and themselves.”

“And Thorin?” Her voice wavered as she peered over at the king.

“He’s not woken yet,” The dwarf began towards the door where Balin stood, “Can’t say if he will or not.”

The grey-haired medic left with a dull look to Balin and Moira tore her eyes from the fallen king. “Perhaps he can’t hear you, Moira,” Balin began as he stood in the doorway, “But you say what you need to. Tell him everything.” He sighed sullenly and blinked tightly, “He loved you, even though it was tainted by the sickness, he did. It’s the very reason he could not face you before the battle.”

“Thank you, Balin,” Weakly, Moira crawled around Fili’s body and sat beside Thorin. She took his hand in hers and lifted in to her mouth, kissing it daintily. A single tear streaked down his battle-stained flesh.

“I’ll return later, my child,” Balin nearly whispered and slowly backed out of the doorway. She listened to his footsteps taper off and stared down at the ashen king.

“Thorin, I know it wasn’t truly you who locked me up. I know it was the sickness, I know it.” She choked back her tears. “But I didn’t know you truly loved me, only that I loved you. Oh, how I loved you so much.” She sobbed between words, cursing her weak heart, “I do love you still. But now, you will never know how much.” She placed his hand on her chest, “Would that I could have been out there at your side, I would have thrown myself between you and any blade.”

She slumped forward until she was lying beside him and she nestled up to his Thorin’s side. She kept her fingers tight around his hand and her body began to rattle with uncontrollable sobs. She cried until her head hurt and she could barely breath. Spent of her tears, she fell into a deep sleep beside him, wishing to join him in limbo but instead dreaming of his death.

When Moira woke, the chamber was dark and her hand was still in Thorin’s. She opened her eyes and stared at the bandaged wrapped around the king’s shoulder, her nose inches from it. She closed her eyes again and sighed. It was hopeless, he did not even seem to be breathing. It was this surrender which sent a jolt through her when she felt his hand tighten around hers.

“Thorin?” She sat up and looked at him through the dark, his breath began to rasp as his wounded chest moved, “Thorin?”

“Moira?” His voice was thin and sickly, “Is that truly you?”

“Oh, of course it is,” She choked, reaching out to touch his cheek carefully, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

“No dream has ever been this painful,” He forced out in his brittle voice, “Or so wonderful.” He squeezed her hand again. “I am so sorry, Moira. I know what I did was…” He inhaled with effort, “Unforgivable and I would not dare ask your forgiveness.”

“Oh, you big oaf,” You nearly laughed for the sound of his voice, “Do you think you need to with me here at your side? Oh, if you only keep living, I could never be mad at you.”

“Moira, I mean it,” He tried to move but instead groaned in agony. She set a hand on his uninjured shoulder to settle him.

“I know, Thorin, do not worry about it now,” She shuffled closer so that she could see his features faintly in the dark, “Just get better, please. Keep fighting.”

“For you,” He breathed, his voice stronger but still thin, “I would fight forever.”

She leaned down over him and pressed her lips to his and despite his pain, he kissed her back. “Thorin, you’re _my_ precious jewel,” She whispered as she pulled away, “I will not lose you now.”


End file.
